Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'Did
you
kill
them?'
She
was
so
intent
upon
his
answer
she
didn't
realise
someone
had
come
into
the
room
until
he
backed
off,
stepping
right
away
from
her.
'What
are
you
doing
here?'
When
she
was
excited,
Anne
Macleod's
voice
sounded
more
Highland,
lengthening
some
of
the
vowels
into
a
lilt.
'I
came
in
to
say,
“look
after
yourself,
all
the
best.”
She's
going
home
today.
Isn't
that
right?
That's
what
she
told
me.’
'It
doesn't
matter
what
she
told
you.’
Lucy
thought,
they
sound
like
brother
and
sister,
though
she
knew
another
listener
might
hear
the
difference
between
them,
coming
from
islands
parted
by
miles
of
Atlantic
sea
set
differently
to
the
sun.
The
Lewisman
nodded.
Shrugging
and
grinning
like
a
caught
schoolboy,
he
was
making
ready
to
leave.
But
Lucy
had
to
know.
'Did
you?'
she
asked
again.
'Did
you
kill
them?'
He
had
to
bend
his
head
down
to
catch
what
she
was
saying.
'Didn't
kill
anybody.
He
paid
up.
He
knew
I
would
have
done
it,
you
see.’
Then,
as
if,
that
out
of
the
way,
he
had
time
to
remark
on
what
she
had
said,
'What
do
you
mean
"them"?
I
wouldn't
ever
hurt
a
child.
Don't
you
know
what
Jesus
said?
"Better
a
millstone
round
your
neck
and
be
thrown
into
the
sea.”’
He
straightened
up
and
spoke
to
Anne
Macleod.
'I'd
throw
them
in
with
my
own
hands.’
'You
shouldn't
be
here,'
Lucy
told
him.
That
this
hypocrite
should
hector
them
about
Jesus
gave
her
a
moment
of
disgust
which
stood
her
instead
for
courage.
'You
have
no
right.’
'I
tell
you,
doctor,
this
one
has
some
funny
visitors.’
He
clucked
his
tongue
in
disapproval.
'It
was
that
set
me
thinking
about
London.
I
met
a
lot
of
people
when
I
was
in
London.’
Lucy
tried
to
meet
his
look,
but
its
blank
intensity
defeated
her.
'Please,'
she
said
to
Anne
Macleod.
'How
did
it
feel?'
'What?'
What
was
he
asking
her?
'Stop
this,
Fraser,'
Anne
Macleod
said.
'Your
hear
me?'
'I
don't
care
why
you
did
it.
You
did
it
with
tablets,
isn't
that
right?
I
was
just
wondering
how
it
felt.
What were
you
thinking
about
when
you
took
them?'
Wearied
by
fright,
she
stumbled
upon
the
simple
truth.
'I
watched
my
hands
moving.
It
didn't
matter
what
I
was
thinking.’
He
turned
that
idea
over,
rubbing
his
hand
back
and
forward
over
his
scalp,
staring
down
at
her.
In
the
end,
nodded;
one
sharp
jerk
of
the
head.
'I
can
understand
that.’
Explain
it to me then. Make me understand.
But
before
she
could
say
anything,
Maitland
was
there
at
last.
In
jagged
strokes
rain
rattled
the
window
glass
and
smoked
over
the
banks
of
lawn.
The
Lewisman
looked
out
at
it,
hands
at
ease
clasped
behind
him,
his
back
turned
to
the
room.
Pretending
.
The
word
hissed
viciously
in
Lucy's
head.
'Oh,
Maitland,'
she
said,
'take
me
home.’
'What's
going
on?'
Maitland
asked
Anne
Macleod.
'This
is
a
sad
lady,'
the
Lewisman
said,
turning
from
the
window.
She
felt
the
weight
of
his
hand
upon
her
shoulder.
'I
hope
you
look
after
her
with
kindness.’
'Do
you,
indeed?'
When
Maitland
came
across
the room,
he
was
by
a
full
head
the
taller
man.
'Obviously,
you're
not
a
doctor.
A
patient?'
'I'm
not
ashamed
of
that.’
But
it
sounded
like
bluster.
The
hand
was
still
resting
on
her
shoulder,
and
Maitland reached
out
and
lifted
it
away.
Over
his
shoulder
he
said
to
Anne
Macleod,
'My
God,
a
patient.’
'Fraser
Allander,'
the
Lewisman
said,
and
went
on
like
a
threat,
'your
wife
and
I've
become
friends.’
'I
really
don't
have
time
for
this.’
'I
wouldn't
want
her
mixed
up
with
the
wrong
people.
I
was
saying
to
the
doctor
your
wife
has
some
funny
visitors.’
Maitland
beckoned
to
Anne
Macleod
.
'Time
to
take
this
one
back
wherever
he
came
from.
Now
would
be
best.’
Still
not
having
found
a
word
to
say,
she
came
forward,
a
dull
red
patch
high
on
each
cheek.
And
the
Lewisman
went
with
her.
Went
so
quietly
it
would
have
been
easier
to
believe
it
was
only
fantasy,
all
his
talk
of
guns
and
London.